


Deity In Blood

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: F/M, GFY, Religious References, references to self-mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-19
Updated: 2010-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six people, six stories. Set after X2, and through X3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightcrawler

They accept, but they do not understand. This is something I have learned since I came to this school. They accept my faith, but they do not understand why I have faith in a god they have lost faith in, if they ever had faith in him at all. So I do not stay always, but I look for understanding, not mere acceptance.

And here, that is what I found. Acceptance, too, yes, but understanding. Not that they all have my faith, but they all have faith in something. And they all understand the desire, the need for it.

One woman, she tries to understand my faith, as much as my need for it. She teaches me hers, even as she learns of mine. She is very different, her deities are many, and complex, as my own is complex. I do not yet fully understand how her faith works, but I am trying. It would be unholy not to give her the same consideration she gives me.

It is more than the understanding of faith that draws me to her, though. She didn't ask me if my tattoos hurt. She asked me merely if I did them myself, or if I had someone else carve the runes into my skin. And offered if I wanted more, that she had more precise tools than my own claws, or a simple razor blade.

Her body is as pristine as mine is not. Smooth, and unflawed, and so very pale. She does not like needles or blades against it. But I have seen the bruises that bloom under the pale, almost translucent flesh. Fingers, wrapped around her arms. And the marks that are angry and red, but fade with time. She says they're nothing, only an outlet when she is alone.

So I asked her why, one day, she is alone so often, that the skin that should be without mark so often has red scratches and half-moon marks of teeth. She gave me another question as an answer. Who would stay long around someone who does not listen to 'no' and feels closest to deity when she is causing pain? When she feels the presence of something beyond herself in the blood and pain of someone else?

I haven't gone back to the Institute in weeks now. Her skin is flawless, like it should be. Mine has more marks, neat and precise, scrolling over my back. Sundays she comes with me to Mass, at night I listen as she prays to her deities. Candles are lit, and secrets shared, but she understands. As I can understand her.

Deity is in blood and flesh, and faith. Mien Gott, her deities, our faith. Maybe one day we will go back to the X-Men together, but for now, there is no need. Something she said to me when we met is so very true.

"What need do we have, you and I, for acceptance of other people? Deity accepts and understands, and loves unconditionally. That is all I need, and all I desire. Can you?"


	2. Counterpoint

He's so much more... and so much less than I expected. Word gets around a place like the Abbey quickly when there's someone new. They said he was a mutant, that he prayed, that he had faith. It's not something you expect. It's not that we don't accept them, it's that they - the mutants, I mean - they don't come to the Abbey. They don't understand us anymore than we understand them.

We... have faith that there's something more. I can't say we believe, because that is a word used by those who hate far too often. We have faith, no matter what we have faith in. Some of us have friends, or family, that are mutants. And those that do often come here... upset... confused... wondering why the people they hold so dear can't understand that they can have such a strong faith, when the world is so unfair.

But that's why we have such faith, many of us. If the world was fair, than those who suffer misfortune would deserve it. And they don't. He doesn't deserve the rejection he faces everyday, the fear, the people who don't understand. He's such a wonderful man, and so what if his skin is the color of my blue jeans, and his eyes the same color as the amber beads on Father Chasie's rosary?

When I first met him, he stood outside in the rain, in the parking lot of the Abbey. He looked like he wasn't sure if he was going to come in. And I saw those tattoos. They're amazing, more so when you realize what he had to work with to etch them into his skin like that. He'd been to the Abbey a couple times before, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to keep coming back.

I asked him what he made the tattoos with, and I saw his eyes light up, like he'd never expected someone to ask that about his tattoos. Or maybe that he expected a different question first. I don't know why people would ask if they hurt to be etched into his skin. Of course they would. What's the point of a tattoo like that, raised and scarred, if it doesn't hurt?

I have a permanent room at the Abbey, because I can't keep the tools at home. It tends to scare people off. I offered to let him use them. Or to use them on him, if he wanted. It's hard to find someone who understands the need for pain as much as the need for faith. Or how related they can be. Blood is deity, and deity is blood. The two have been so entwined throughout history that it's surprising people reject now.

We started to talk that day, in the rain. We both caught cold, didn't get to talk again for almost two weeks. But he came back. A Saturday night, actually, and I had a celebratory. He stayed with me, watched, listened, and asked me about it all when I was done. The language, the deities, everything.

I went with him in the morning to Mass. I'd gone before, to Father Chasie's masses, and even though I don't follow the teachings of the Catholic faith, the sense of reverence and wonder always made me feel something. Never much, not until I went with him. There's something about being with someone who has as much faith as he does, when there are so many reasons he wouldn't. So many like him, to some extent, who don't have that faith.

I don't know when I fell in love with him. It doesn't really matter, in the end. Somewhere, between him learning about my faith, and me learning about his, and everything else we talked about, I fell in love with the most wonderful person I've ever met. A wonderful, kind, and incredible man, and I can't take him to meet my parents. I like him the way he is, and I don't think a bullet through the chest would look good.

And there are times, when we're curled up together, and he thinks I'm asleep, that I hear him wish he had the strength to take me with him, to introduce me to those who saved him from Stryker. I don't know why, as he hasn't gone back to the Institute for weeks, but maybe, there, I can do something.

But not now. This rapport between us is still young, still fragile in many ways. That's why I haven't gone home in as long as he hasn't. The Abbey is home for us, for now. One of these days, maybe, we'll go see his friends, and not worry about them not understanding. Maybe, too, we'll visit my parents, and I can tell them that their lack of understanding doesn't matter, and leave before the shotgun comes out.

Maybe one day we will. But not today. Today, we're not ready, and neither are they.


	3. Our Father

When I first saw him, my first reaction was to wonder what I had drunk the night before. My next, as I knew the answer to that was that I'd drunk nothing more than water, was that here was an example of what I've said for years. That it matters not how we look, God accepts us all. Loves us all.

More so, I thought that after I had spoken with the man. I can't say what he told me, made in confidence, but how could he not be loved by God, with what has happened in his life?

But it wasn't my words that brought him back to the Abbey. They may bring him for Sunday mass, but they do not keep him at the Abbey. No, that is the work of another of our brethren. A sister in faith, even though she does not pray to the same God I do. We don't know her real name, as she cast that off.

Not that one would blame her for leaving behind a name that only brings up the intolerance which she outgrew, and abandoned. She is as incredible as our Nightcrawler, our dark angel of God. Iaste, she calls herself. When asked what it means, she laughs, and says it would take too long to explain properly, but if we want a translation, she is a servant of deity, a reflection of the universe.

Nightcrawler, Kurt, smiles now when a newcomer asks Iaste about her name. She's explained it to him, I think, at some point. There's much more than that between them, though. They are very different, and yet very much the same, in some way. They accept and understand each other in a way no one else can, except God.

I hope, when they chose to celebrate their connection, their bond, publicly, they will allow me to play a role in that celebration, as I have in others before theirs. If they ever chose to celebrate it publicly.

That, I know, may not happen. Iaste, for all that she has left the fear and hate behind, would want her family to share her celebration, and they are the kind to turn away those that are not like them. And I think Kurt fears what those who took him in before this will say when they meet Iaste. I do not know.

I only know that they are what I wish the future to be.


	4. Connection

Listen to the news every day, with everyone else in the Abbey, on Father Chasie's radio. There's a cure, they said, for mutants. Weeks ago now, I think. Like it's a disease or something. It has its supporters, like everything else controversial, and its detractors. Caused a big mess out in California, with some lady they called Phoenix, and that seriously messed-up man called Magneto.

Caused a small mess here, at the Abbey. If Iaste'd been a mutant with the right powers, that radio would have been melted bits of plastic, for all the heat in that glare of hers. And Father Chasie used language no one thought he even knew. Much less knew how to use correctly in context.

I mean, I know he wasn't always a priest, but I'd have gotten my mouth washed out with soap for that language. Even after I grew up.

No one saw Iaste or Kurt for days after we heard the news. They won't talk about where they went, but Kurt's still our indigo angel. Glad about that. He'd have broken a lot of hearts if he'd come back all cured and stuff like that. Its part of who he is, being blue and with a tail, and 'porting around the room to get people laughing on bad days.

One thing I did notice when they came back. They're even closer than before, wrapped up in each other as if they're one entity. That's what a couple is supposed to be like, I suppose, but it's almost frightening to see them like that. Almost like there's some piece of the puzzle missing that made them like that.

Father Chasie says my biggest problem is my insatiable curiosity. I call it my biggest strength. Took me up to that place down the road called Xavier's Institute. I wanted to meet these people who helped our indigo angel. Even if there's a sense of mourning hanging over the whole place.

I mean, they had two people die, and one... I don't know what you'd call it, but he's not the same person he used to be. And the rest are still reeling, I think. They've got these memorials, though, out in the gardens. Read the names, and left a token, like I do when I go visit the cemetery, see my relatives, stuff like that.

They asked me how Kurt was doing. He hasn't been back to this place since he and Iaste really got together. Wherever they went recently, they didn't come here. Not so that people noticed they were here, anyway. It's nice to see they care enough about him to ask after him, though.

Told them he was fine, and if they wanted to see for themselves, maybe they ought to come down to the Abbey to talk to him. I don't think the one actually understood what I meant. She's too wrapped up in a new role and whatever she's feeling to read under the words, I think.

But the wild one, Logan, he's one to see beyond the obvious. He said he'd make the time, make sure the 'elf' was doing well. He strikes me as some kind of father-figure to the lot of them. Strange father-figure to say the least, but a good one for the most part. For all of a day's observation of the man, anyway. Maybe I ought to come up here more myself, and watch them more.

If nothing else, I might convince the children I really don't care that they're mutants. They're still people, and they didn't ask for what they've been given. They're just doing what they can with their gifts. Which is all that anyone should care, that they're doing their best to learn how to use what they've been given, and they're hoping to be contributing members of society.

If the rest of society will allow them. It's better than it was a few years ago, but still, they've so far to go. Acceptance is something most humans don't understand, just as far too many of them don't understand faith, real faith, rather than belief.

Until then, I think I shall keep coming back to Xavier's as much as I go to the Abbey. They might not understand why a simple human cares to spend the day among them, but I hope they'll accept it. And maybe between us we'll figure out why I'm looking for connection here, rather than at the Abbey.


	5. Teaching Acceptance

Went by the place she said the elf stayed at. Storm's too busy with the school, and the kids ain't sure of the place. Ain't sure of the lady who comes up from there, either. She offered to help teach the kids, if Storm'll let her. Nice lady, do them some good to have person like her around. Human, but she's the kind of person you wish they all were.

They're all kinda like her. The priest can get a little long-winded, and that lady Nightcrawler is with is strange, but they're good people. Good place for him, maybe better than the school. Told him he could come up, bring his girl with him, visit. Don't know if he'll take the offer or not.

I'll keep coming back here, though, keep an eye on him. Like the rest of 'em, the kids. Place is nice, quiet. Good place to drop in if the nightmares get really bad again. Don't follow me here.

Should bring Rogue down here. The kid could use a little peace and quiet, going through a rough time like she is. People down here'll be good to her. Good for her. Should have come down here before she went off and got that cure stuff. People here might have helped better than the Prof.

Not in learning about or controlling her powers, but maybe accepting them. It ain't always acceptance from those like 'em that a kid needs, but from those that ya wouldn't think would accept 'em. Don't know if it'll work, but it ain't likely to hurt 'em. Have to get Storm to let me bring some of the kids down here. Only way they're going to know what's good about humans is if they see it, and they ain't gonna see it up at the school.


	6. Trust

Logan took me down to this place called the Abby today, after Bobby and I argued again. He doesn't understand why I wanted the cure - Bobby, I mean, and that's just tearing us apart. Well, it's not the only thing. I know he and Kitty are just friends, but it hurt to watch him being able to touch her, and be around her, when I couldn't do the same sort of stuff.

The people down here are really nice, and Kurt's down here. He's curious why I decided to go for the cure, everyone is, really, but they ain't like Bobby. They ain't looking at me like I'm some kind of freak for wanting to be normal. It's almost like they understand, even if they can't really know what it's like never to be able to touch anyone. And they listened when I said I didn't really wanna talk about it.

I know, Storm said there wasn't anything wrong with me, and the Professor said he could help me learn to control my powers, but it ain't enough, not all the time. I wanna touch people, to be normal. Maybe even have a family. My powers ain't exactly inheritable. A little, maybe, but not like I had to deal with. At least, I hope not.

At least, if I had anyone. I don't know if Bobby and I can work this out. I'm trying to talk to him, trying to get him to understand, but he's... I don't know. Maybe he's just being a boy, but it's not easy when he's being so thick-headed. I want to make it work, and I don't know if he does.

Maybe I can get some help here. Logan said they were good people, and could give me a hand if I needed it, in things he really can't. There are things you don't know how to deal with when you're a guy, and the person you wanna help ain't. But the people down here, not all of them are guys. I could ask them for help with how to talk to Bobby about this.

It's hard, even now that I've gotten the cure, to ask for help. It ain't that they're unwelcoming, just that I don't trust so well anymore. Even after living up at the Institute for the last year, I still remember life before they found me. Always moving, after what happened with Cody, not being able to trust myself around anyone because of my powers.

I know these people I can trust. But I don't know how to trust someone else knowing that much about me. Maybe that's my problem with Bobby. Except that I do trust him. And he's worth making the effort. Somehow. Who to talk to here? I don't think that lady with Nightcrawler, she's scary. And Ellen, she goes up to the Institute everyday, and I don't know. She's got other things she's worried with, I think.

I'll figure it out, sooner or later. And somehow I'll work this out with Bobby. One way or another. I have to. Or I'm not going to be able to move forward.


End file.
